Butthole Intruder

This past Thursday night entailed a hook up that was quintessential to my college experience. Per usual, my drunken, ill-thought out actions led to an encounter with the opposite sex that invoked a type of moral or lesson learned. This Thursday's lesson: always go back to the guy's room. This is absolutely vital incase the guy you're hooking up with is an undercover freak. Let me tell you, it's a lot harder to escape from your own room than it is to escape from theirs.
Now, the thing about weird guys is that most of them look exactly like normal guys. It isn't until they're in your bed that it hits you woah, this guy's a freak, and not in the good way. Case in point, I'd known of this noticeably good looking guy for almost the entire school year, and having met him a handful of times through mutual friends I was dying to hook up with him. Tall, athletic, with strong dark features, he was totally my type, which is why I was so excited when we started dancing together at a party this past Thursday night. Dancing led to kissing, which led to groping, which led to me kicking my roommate out of the room for the night in exchange for doing her next load of laundry.
After having a crush on this guy from the second I knew who he was, I was thrilled to have him back at my room. And everything was going well, too. He was a good kisser, looked great without clothes on, and thus far was fun to hook up with. The mood was totally hot; we were lying in my bed exploring each others bodies with our hands, when suddenly I tensed up. Oh my god, panic seized me as I felt him intrusively trying to finger my butthole. It's not that he didn't know where everything was, his hands were full of conviction. I moved his fingers away from my butt and tried to brush it off, but a few moments later he was trying again! The Butthole Intruder was striking back! In turn, I once again moved his hand. Then I felt him trying to push my body down to give him head. Hell no am I putting you in my mouth, I thought to myself, if that's what you like to do with your fingers then who knows where your penis has been?
"No, I'm sorry, I'm not gonna do that," I explained as he pushed down on my body.
"Really?" His disappointment was palpable, "Why not?"
Because it scares me to think about where your dick has been, "Uhh, because, uh, I don't know you well enough."
He accepted my answer and we kept on kissing. But as I felt his hands moving back towards my butthole, I knew I had to do something.
"Seriously, though, you should go find another girl who'll go down on you. I really won't be offended if you leave," God, did I regret bringing him back to my dorm.
"No, it's fine, I'm not gonna do that to you." Why are the normal guys never this nice?
"Are you sure? Because I really don't mind. Like really." Get out of my room before I call the cops on you.
"I'm serious," the Butthole Intruder laid a kiss on my face, "I'm staying here."
Fuck.
I spent the rest of the night playing our game of call and response as he would attempt to finger my butthole, then I'd move his hand away, until finally we both fell asleep. At the crack of dawn that Friday morning I was roused from my slumber from the noise of the Butthole Intruder getting dressed in my bathroom. Oh, thank God, I thought to myself as I squeezed my eyelids shut, guardedly clenched my butt cheeks, and pretended to still be in a deep, drunken sleep. I heard him creep silently out the door. Hide your kids, hide your wife, there's a Butthole Intruder on the loose.